


I Want To See You Stripped

by jacksonwng



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Dom!Chekov, Dom/sub, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, First Time, Fluff, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Oral Fixation, Rimming, Spanking, Sub!Bones, Top!Chekov, bottom!Bones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksonwng/pseuds/jacksonwng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is a sub, but he's never allowed himself the opportunity to explore that side of him, until now, and he never expected to meet the sweet looking, Russian genius that has become his dom. </p><p>And he certainly never expected them to be placed on the same ship first mission out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want To See You Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [cadetchekov](http://mckirkov.tumblr.com/) on tumblr who posted something ages ago about dom!chekov/sub!bones and I only just about got around to writing it
> 
> Beta'd by [withinherheart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WithinHerHeart)
> 
> This is the first fic I wrote for NaNoWriMo 2013

 

Leonard swallowed nervously and tried to resist the urge to turn tail and run away.

He’d never been on this side of town before, although it wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about making the venture. In fact, he’d thought about it quite a lot. When he was a teenager, it had kind of plagued his thoughts, but then he had met Jocelyn and they had gotten married and there was no time for that kind of thinking.

But he wasn’t married anymore, hadn’t been for nearly three years now so why shouldn’t he try? Why shouldn’t he live his fantasies? He had no reason not to - except maybe the fact that he was kind of terrified.

He squelched down on the feeling and steeled himself, shoulders tensing, and forced himself to move, to push open the door and walk in. He squared up to the bouncer, hoping the huge man wouldn’t notice the frantic beating in his chest. The man merely grunted and inclined his head in silent admittance.

Devil’s Advocate was smoky, and loud and busy. Leonard hadn’t realised there were so many people in the small town that were…into that kind of thing. There was so much leather and bare skin that, dressed as he was in a button down and jeans, he felt out of place.

Maybe that was a good thing though. It made him stand out and it drew eyes to him.

He was at the bar, nursing a double shot of whiskey, when he was first approached. The woman was tall, dark skin clad in leather with a tantalising display of breast that his eyes darted involuntarily to. Her features were soft, but her gaze was predatory as they dragged along his body, and he suddenly felt the need to shy away. Whatever she saw, she must have liked it, judging by her wicked smile.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” she commented, “Must be your first time here.”

Leonard smiled awkwardly. “Is it that obvious?”

She hummed. “Well, you do smell like a virgin.” He felt the rising need to be defensive, but then she pressed closer and the words died on his tongue. “But don’t worry hon, I can fix that. And I do love a man with stubble, it gives a good burn.”

Leonard gaped for a moment, uncertain and overwhelmed and god, what was he thinking? He was so not ready for this…

“Wictoria, I think you’re scaring the newbie,” a heavily accented voice teased.

Victoria pushed away slowly, and Leonard blinked over her shoulder at the man – no, the boy. He was young, looked far too young to be in a place like Devil’s Advocate, with curly blond hair and an amused smile. Oh, and more leather.

“I was just being friendly,” Victoria defended, grinning.

“Your fwendly looks more like man eating,” the stranger responded and laughed.

“What’s the difference?” she winked.

Leonard watched the two awkwardly. He thought about maybe slipping away while they were preoccupied and then maybe he’d try again tomorrow or next week, or next month. You know, whenever he felt like he could – and then the boy’s eyes fell on him, wide and dark, and yet sharp and intense, so intense, and he froze in place, like a deer in headlights.

“I don’t think you vant to try with Wictoria your first time,” the man advised him, “She vill eat you aliwe.”

“I’m not going to go with her,” Leonard blurted.

The boy stared at him for a moment and then breathed out a laugh, the corner of his mouth twisting upward. “Good.”

Victoria glanced between the two of them with narrowed eyes, which she proceeded to roll with exasperation and pout childishly. “And you aren’t even going to offer to share,” she sighed and shook her head mockingly, “I suppose it’s as well. I wouldn’t with him either. Have fun boys.” She waved with the tips of her fingers before sashaying away into the dancing crowd.

Leonard watched her go with faint awe and the boy laughed a little at his expression.

“Yeah, Wictoria could make the gayest of subs turn; she has a vay about her,” he nodded solemnly, “but not vith you.”

“I’ve…dealt with my fair share of intimidating women,” Leonard spoke in a way of explanation.

“And it’s not your thing anymore, right?” the man guessed, taking a step closer.

Leonard swallowed and his hand flexed around his glass. “Lately I’ve been wondering whether they were ever my thing. I came here to…I don’t even know why I came here.”

“I know why,” the boy responded with such certainty that it made startle, “You’re here because you want to let go. Want to lose control.”

“How…how do you know that I don’t want to control?” Leonard questioned, and silently cursed the croak in his voice.

The boy smirked a little. “Because no dominate vould have acted like that around Wictoria. You can be as in control as you vant in everyday life, but here, everyone falls into position.”

“And I’m guessing yours is…dom too?”

“You seem surprised.”

“You do seem kind of young.”

“I am young. I am the youngest here.”

Leonard eyed him curiously. “How old are you, kid?”

“Sewenteen.”

Leonard scoffed and shook his head; regret curling in his stomach because of course, the one he would possibly have taken an interest in was barely legal. It was just his luck really. “Seventeen. Oh good, he’s seventeen,” he murmured to himself and knocked back the last of his drink.

And then the boy was close, his body heat burning at his side and Leonard automatically wanted to lean into the closeness. When he spoke again, his voice a low whisper, hot air battered his cheek and made him shiver.

“And first rule, I prefer сэр.”

Leonard licked his lips. “What does that mean?”

“Sir.”

“And why would I call you that?”

“Vell, you hawe to call me something vhen I’m making you beg.”

Goosebumps rose on his skin. “You could always tell me your name.”

“Pavel Andreievich Chekov, but my subs call me сэр.”

“I’m…I’m not your sub.”

“Not yet. But you vill be. I can guarantee.”

“Seems kind of confident,” Leonard’s eyes darted towards Chekov’s, “How can you be so certain?”

“Because you vouldn’t have come here for anything less than the best.”

“And you’re the best?” he quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, you’ll have to find out,” Chekov grinned and then suddenly he had stepped back and cold air brushed between them that left Leonard feeling wrong and missing it. The boy held out his hand, palm up, and wriggled his fingers. “Come.”

Leonard didn’t even think about taking the hand. His brain had just about caught up to the question when he found himself tugged off the seat, the limb held comfortably. “Where are we going?”

“To dance.”

Leonard dug his heels into the carpet. “Ah, no. I don’t dance.”

“You do now,” Chekov told him and how could he resist?

The dance floor was in the centre of the club and, despite the number of people that inhabited it, dancing seemed to be the further from their minds. Bodies rubbed up against each other, and skin sweated and glistened under the overhead lights. Hips moved out of sync, hands ran and lips mouthed along the expanse of the bared skin. Couples and trios kissed and groped at each other. And, when he was being pulled through the crowd, Leonard was pretty sure that had seen a girl on her knees between the thighs of her dom’s, with her face pressed into the gap between the others legs. No one else thought it out of place, just continued moving; continued doing their own thing.

Leonard hoped that wasn’t what Chekov had planned.

 _Lies_ , a voice hissed.

Okay, so maybe, yes, he wanted to do that. Wanted to be forced to kneel and to take what was on offer to him. He wanted to feel the leather trousers pushed against his face and wanted the muffled smell of cock to overwhelm his nose. He wanted to find out what was underneath and spend hours worshipping until his throat was sore and his eyes were watering.

He wanted a lot of things, but that didn’t mean he wanted to do them in public.

_Try again._

So he didn’t want to do them in public his first try.

The voice in his head remained silent. Good.

They finally stopped and Chekov spun towards him. He never realised the grip on Leonard’s hand, only adjusted it so that it was comfortable for when he yanked the older man flushed against him. Leonard let out a whoosh of air in surprise at the unexpected movement, and Chekov shot him a reassuring grin that was returned weakly.

He squeezed the hand he held and the other ran up and down Leonard’s arm. “Relax,” he soothed, “Just...let the music take you.”

Leonard wasn’t sure that this music, with too much base and too many jumps in the track, could take him anywhere, but he wasn’t about to say that.

It was awkward at first. Leonard had no idea how exactly he was supposed to move to the music or where his hands were supposed to go and that couple had caught his attention again – another woman had joined them and the dom was gripping the back of both of their heads, encouraging them to tug down her pants and oh my god, were you seriously allowed to do this in front of people here?

And then there was Chekov. Just Chekov. He was so young, and yeah, that came up in a few of his thoughts, but he was confident and demanding in the best way possible. He watched Leonard like he was the only thing worth watching in the room. His hands drew him in and encouraged his hips to move like this, his legs to move like that. And when he leant in close, so his voice could be heard over the music, Leonard wanted to melt in the most pathetic way possible. But he didn’t- he refused to buckle and met every one of Chekov’s orders with a determination for perfection that he hadn’t realised he had.

Or maybe it wasn’t for perfection in general. Maybe he just wanted to be perfect for Chekov. Because the way that Chekov smiled, the soft praises that lit his voice, it made him feel warm and ... content – he guessed that was the best way to describe it – in a way he didn’t think he’d ever been before.

The song ended all too quickly, and Leonard tried not to look disappointed when Chekov’s hands fell from him. He must have failed because one of the hands came up to brush across his lips.

“Do not look so sad дорогой,” he teased, “There is more to come, if you vish it so.”

“More?”

Chekov hummed, his lips rolling. “I vant to take you back home vith me; I vant to spend the night vith you on my bed. I vant to see vhat you look like under these clothes,” he tugged on the end of his shirt, “And then I vant to tie you up and see if I can make you blush like that all over.”

Leonard let out a shaky breath. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I vill valk avay,” Chekov promised and Leonard realised how much he didn’t want the kid to do that.

“Okay,” he said thickly.

“Okay vhat?” Chekov pressed.

Leonard watched him for a moment because did he really have to say it? Chekov’s eyebrow twitched challengingly and it was clear that they would not move forward - at least, not that way that Leonard wanted – until he said it.

He resisted the urge to sigh. “Okay sé-er.” He stumbled over the pronunciation, his southern drawl making it difficult to get the curve on the word properly, but Chekov stilled beamed at him, pleased.

“Ve shall hawe to vork on the accent,” he replied, amused, before grasping Leonard’s hand and leading him carefully off the dance floor. His thumb caressed the back of his hand and Leonard shivered as he tried to wrap his head around what had just happened, around what he had just agreed to.

He had agreed to go home with someone. A stranger. A dom. A dom he didn’t know, who wanted to bring him into a lifestyle that he had no first-hand experience in and while he had done research and thought he understood what the relationship would entail, was he really ready for this? Was he ready to…submit?

Chekov’s caressed the skin again, and shot him a smile over his shoulder, and Leonard lost all grasp on his worries. They faded into the background, with the music and the other dancers, and the grumpy looking bouncer that smirked his amusement as they passed him, and there was just the two of them for a few moments.

And he couldn’t wait to find out what Chekov had in store for him.

"My name's Leonard, by the way," he blurted out.

Chekov glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

 

*

 

Chekov’s apartment wasn’t that far from the campus of the Starfleet Academy. It was in one of those lavish buildings that usually held the graduates, or teachers, or those who just needed to be near the academy on a moment’s notice. It wasn’t a place that the academy usually put you up in, and Leonard couldn’t say that he wasn’t curious about how the kid managed to swing it, and it was a look that apparently he’d been unable to keep off his face, because Chekov looked kind of sheepish as they walked into his room.

“My parent set me up here,” he stated as way of explanation, “Apparently they did not vant me to get influenced by the older people that attend the school,” he rolled his eyes, as if the entire notion was ridiculous and considering where they had met, Leonard could agree that their actions seems to be for nought.

“It’s a nice place,” Leonard responded awkwardly.

“It’s comfortable, and mine. Has been for three years now,” He shrugged, “It is home.”

“So um, how often do you bring people back here?” Leonard questioned and Chekov smirked.

“Not so often. I only really joined the scene last year. I had a dom, to show me the ropes as it were - the rights and vrong of how to treat a sub, vhat’s expected from a dom - and den I graduated. I hawe had a few subs but none serious. And none that I vished to invite home with me so yes, you are special.”

Leonard tried not to let his face react to the pleased feeling that swirled in his stomach. Not that it mattered, because Chekov was still grinning at him as if he knew all his secrets and that irritated the hell out of him. He thought about turning tail and leaving because he didn’t ask to be patronised by some ensign twelve years younger than him, but now that he was here, the idea of leaving seemed less than pleasant.

After all, his mama had always told him it was as rude to leave so soon.

“So is there some kind of order of how this works?” Leonard questioned and cleared his throat.

“I guess you could call it that. Before ve begin, there are a few things that should be discussed,” Chekov nodded. He inclined his head, silently requesting that Leonard follow him and the man fell easily in step behind him. Chekov lead him into his bedroom - a simply styled room with a large four poster bed, wardrobe and storage, including a long wooden box at the base of the bed, which was approached and opened.

Leonard stilled, eyes widening at the contents because...well, he should have expected really. Toys, was the best way to describe it. Chains and paddles and straps; dildos of varying sizes, beads, and god, Leonard didn’t even know what half of this stuff existed, let alone what it did. He glanced at Chekov questioningly out of the corner of his eye.

The boy smiled pleasantly. “You need to figure out vhat you like. I vouldn’t vant to start a scene that you are not a hundred percent happy vith,” he explained, “So pick.”

“Pick?”

He hummed, “anything you like.”

Leonard nodded sharply and took a step forward awkwardly towards the box. He kneeled down and his hands hovered uncertainly for a moment before he reached out and, quite frankly, picked something that didn’t look terrifying.

“Restraints,” Chekov mused, “You vant to be held down.”

Leonard rubbed the fabric of the strap, furry and soft on the inside and rough on the out. “I uh, I guess so.”

“That should vork for now,” Chekov nodded happily, “Perhaps next round there vill be a new toy.”

Leonard swallowed at the mention of another round, and felt a kernel of pleasured heat swirl in his stomach at the thought of what those other rounds would entail - the beads or the dildos, that would stretch and press and fill in his arse until he was sobbing, shaking, begging for what he wouldn’t know? The paddle, and the sharp pain that would go along with it, before Chekov would soothe the inflamed skin with his hands, with his tongue? Or maybe none of the above. Maybe Chekov would tie him down and make Leonard take his cock, his cum.

He wasn’t sure which idea he liked better.

Chekov carefully removed the straps from his hand and Leonard blinked up at him. When had the boy moved?

“And now, a safevord.”

“A safeword?”

“Yes, just in case. If you say this vord, I vill stop, no matter vhat.”

Leonard nodded his understanding and thought on it for a while. He guessed it was important. To have a word that could make everything end, and it made Leonard relax a little.

“Jim,” he decided.

Chekov arched an eyebrow. “Jim,” he repeated slowly.

“It’s a name that wouldn’t come up, trust me,” Leonard pointed out with a wry grin.

“It is your choice. ‘Jim’, although unusual, is fine vith me,” Chekov accepted, “So, shall ve begin?”

“Why not?” he replied weakly.

“Strip,” Chekov commanded. The sharpness of the order shocked him a little. He supposed he’d been expecting it but still, it happened so quickly that he hadn’t the time to mentally prepare. Half of him was still prepared to reject the words, while the rest of him was already moving to comply.

Leonard always found the concept of stripping to be awkward. It was something that Jocelyn had felt appropriate to do, especially on the nights when they were trying to reconnect after times of tribulation, and okay, Leonard wasn’t going to complain. She was good at it, he guessed – at least, she never got caught in her shirt and hey, it did its job. But he was also pretty sure that he didn’t have the same skill as his ex-wife. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt; his belt got stuck for a few seconds until he yanked on it hard enough to fall apart; his trousers got caught around his ankles and there was seriously nothing sexy about taking one’s socks off.

But it didn’t seem like Chekov had got the memo. His eyes had darkened to a pleased glint and Leonard was sure that his leather pants were tighter now than they were before – thank god that leather did nothing to hide that. Not that Chekov seemed distracted by it. He didn’t try to cover himself or control his expression, like Leonard would have out of embarrassment. He seemed confident and gleeful; excited even. It brought a shiver to Leonard’s skin – had anyone been excited to fuck him before? Even if they had, he was sure they wouldn’t look like Chekov when they did it – evil and sinful and beautiful.

“On the bed,” Chekov ordered.

Leonard sat awkwardly on the edge of the duvet, the cotton fabric soft to the touch.

“Perhaps I should hawe been clearer – lie down on the bed.”

He breathed in slowly and moved into the ordered position. His muscles felt strained and tense, with anticipation, with nerves, he wasn’t sure, maybe both, and he felt vulnerable, on display, as Chekov’s eyes bore into his flesh. He stared up at the roof of the bed – a sweeping canopy of fabric – and licked his lips when he heard the creaks in the floorboards as Chekov got closer and closer.

Chekov knelt on the edge of the bed, at Leonard’s side, and for a long time, he just watched. Those wonderfully intense eyes ran up and down his body, taking in all the nooks and crannies, all the imperfections that came with age. He didn’t say anything and Leonard was too afraid to – was he even allowed to? Didn’t he have to be given permission or something in this situation? – So he licked his lips, breathed in and out shakily, and tried not to squirm under the pressure of the gaze, which was an impossibility when he could feel the way his cock was growing, hardening between his legs.

Chekov hummed, no words but the general tone seemed to be approval and that was a good sign right? And then he touched. His hair first, fingers cascading through the brown hair, knotting and smoothing away from his forehead. His face, tracing wrinkles and worry lines, the bridge of his nose and lips, which parted willingly under the stroke. His neck, his chest, fingernails scratching just a little, enough to leave faint red marks, pebble his nipples. His stomach, soft and a little pudgy, and follow the line of dark hair that lead to his cock. His inner thigh, when he bypassed the dick entirely, which shook a little under the ministrations. His calf, where the muscles tightened automatically. His feet, which jerked away from the touch because he’d always been ticklish down there. His skin thrummed a little, sensitive from the touch.

“I vant you on your knees,” Chekov stated, breaking the thick silence that had enclosed them, “I vant to see your arse.”

The bluntness of the order made Leonard swallow and his ass cheeks clench, but he did as he was ordered, his legs shaking like a newborn. A hand settled on his hip, heavy and forcing him to still.  He looked up at Chekov questioningly.

“I vant to hear you speak. Vhen I giwe you an order, say ‘Yes сэр’.”

Leonard nodded. “Yes sé-er,” his voice croaked.

Chekov grinned. “Good boy.” He cooed, and Leonard tried not to be so pleased by the words.

The hand released and he moved onto his knees, his hands supporting his weight. His fingers flexed a little and he gripped the duvet. A hand traced, barely touching, along the curve of his back and he did not, repeat that he absolutely did not, arch his back to try and meet the palm. A finger brushed along his arse cheeks, dipping into the crack and Leonard bit down on his bottom lip.

One finger pressed dryly against his rim, insistent with the touch but never pushing in too far. Leonard’s whimper was muffled. A hand came to his mouth and encouraged the teeth to realise the skin. It massaged the flesh before pushing into the mouth, tracing teeth and tongue and roof of mouth.

“Don’t silence yourself,” Chekov ordered, “I vant to hear ewerything.”

“Y-yes sé-er,” he muttered out, the words broken by the limbs in his mouth.

“Suck.”

Leonard did so automatically. He closed his lips around the finger and hollowed his cheeks, his tongue flicking and encircling. The hand at his arse pressed harder and he rolled his lips up into it, his moan cut off. Horror of what he was doing kind of crept up on him – he was giving himself to a kid, he was giving up control and loving every bit of it. Chekov’s low words, mostly in Russian, but some English, slipped past the ringing in his ears and he held onto it, because he wanted this, god he wanted this, and for once, he was going to let himself have what he wanted, even if that want was to submit oh so completely to a teenager, who really shouldn’t be that good in making him groan.

The finger pulled from his lips and he whined a little at the lost, but gasped when the cold tip of that finger replaced the other finger to rub against his rim. He jerked away from the temperature contrast, but Chekov was holding him down, holding him open, and he had no choice but to take it.

The tip of his finger slipped in and Leonard clenched around it, torn between wanting it out and wanting more, much more. Chekov’s thumb rubbed the skin just above the hole soothingly.

“Spread your legs,” he muttered the order.

Leonard swallowed and complied, his stance widening and his arse rising, his head lowered to the pillow beneath him.

A sharp slap across his right cheek made Leonard jolt and let out a surprised and slightly angered noise.

“What was that for?” he demanded to know, glancing over his shoulder.

Chekov looked at him, a smirk on his face, and god, he looked so obscene like that, still completely dressed, when Leonard wanted, and his finger just hooked in Leonard’s arse. “You didn’t obey my order,” he explained, and then slapped the flesh again for good measure. Leonard yelped.

“I say ‘spread your legs’ and you say…” he urged.

“Yes sé-er,” Leonard responded through gritted teeth. Was it possible for something to both arouse you and irritate the fuck out of you? Because he was sure he found it.

“Good boy,” Chekov said, “Let’s try it one more time, just to make sure you hawe understood – I say ‘hold yourself open for me’ and you say…”

“Yes sé-er,” he replied dutifully, and then reached out with one shaking hand to grab his arse cheek and pull.

“And the other one дорогой.”

Leonard breathed out slightly. “Yes sé-er,” and then suddenly he had no hands to support him, forcing his head further into the pillow. His blunt fingernails dug into the moulds of flesh.

“Perfect Lynard, that is perfect,” Chekov stated, and Leonard clenched, self-conscious and on display and what exactly was Chekov going to do now that he had him like this. Thoughts twisted and whirled in his head, but it wasn’t anything compared to what he actually did.

Leonard had heard about it – had watched a few porn videos centred around it and would cum like a train all over himself; and Kirk had mentioned it to him a few times with a filthy grin and a suggestive eyebrow wriggle – but he’d never thought it ever would happen to him, until he felt Chekov’s tongue pressing flatly against the muscle.

“Oh,” the air rushed out of him. His fingers slipped on one side and Chekov slapped him once before he struggled to regain his grip. His muscles trembled and his mouth began dry and he waited, he waited, he waited, until –

“Fuck,” he moaned and pushed his face into the pillow.

Chekov hummed and flicked his tongue out again, circling his finger, dipping into the space around it. The finger rubbed at his inner walls and he gasped.  His cock hardened to full mast almost instantly, and his balls tightened. Chekov didn’t let up, not even for a few moments to even out his breathing, he just kept on; pressing and pushing until Leonard’s thighs flittered on either side of his head.

Sometimes Chekov would moan with pleasure and mutter a few words in Russian before returning like a dehydrated man to water. In a better state of mind, Leonard might have questioned what was so great about eating arse, but right now, all he could concentrate on is not cuming and having this end way too soon.

“Talk to me,” Chekov ordered at one point, his voice hoarse, “Tell me vhat it feels like. Tell me how good it feels to let me eat you out like some vaton slut.”

Leonard quavered at the words and gasped into the pillow, blinking, trying to clear his thoughts, words, words, he needed words – oh fuck, yes, just keep-

Another slap brought him back to attention, and he blurted out the words, “Yes sé-er, oh god, it’s good…so fucking good. Wet, full, so full. God, this should be so wrong, wrong, but right, so good, fuck fuck fuck…” he chanted.

“Vrong, vhy is it vrong?” Chekov questioned.

“What… sé-er?” he added quickly on the end.

Chekov repeated the question and licked a long strip across the rim, and a second finger slide into his hole.

“You’re eating my arse! It shouldn’t make me…” Leonard trailed off with a groan when his prostate was stabbed and he saw stars.

“Make you vhat?” Chekov encouraged, persisted.

Leonard clenched his eyes shut, embarrassed. He had meant to mutter the words, to hide them mostly even through the need to answer, but Chekov’s tongue slipped in and joined the fingers, stretching and tasting and touching and fuck, he couldn’t help the way his voice rose, loud and high pitched.

“Make me want to cum!”

And then it was all gone. Tongue, fingers, hands that weren’t his own. Leonard cried out in irritation and disappointment because no, no, that wasn’t fair, he didn’t want it to stop. He was close, so close. He clenched around thin air, the wetness meeting the cold air and making everything too sensitive, and whimpered, and thought maybe, if he could slide his hands a little closer, he could fill himself up and then...

But Chekov seemed to already know what he was thinking.

“Drop your hands,” he commanded.

Leonard made a noise of disappointment but dropped them automatically. His “yes sé-er” was suppressed by the pillow.

“Hands abowe your head, keep legs apart.”

Leonard did as he was told and watched the shadow of Chekov’s lithe body – still clothed, god, was he ever going to get out of those pants – as he leant over and put the straps on his wrist. They were warm and soft against his skin, but his mind was half rebelling against the idea of being held down, when Chekov could do whatever he wanted and he…

Chekov’s hand brushed soothingly over the side of his face and the tension left Leonard’s body.

“Remember your safevord if you vant to stop,” he muttered, before pulling away entirely. There was the ruffling of fabric, and Leonard tried to look up and twist his head to see Chekov undressing, but he was too shaky, too strung out, and his muscles were weak. So he just dropped his head and tried to work on even out his breathing, on bringing himself further away from the edge of release because something told him that he wasn’t to cum until his сэр – Chekov said so.

He heard the squelching of lube out of a tube, and wriggled his bottom in anticipation. Chekov chuckled and flicked the cheek, just a little, to watch the reddening of flesh.

“Eager,” he murmured, pleased, as he rubbed his fingers together in an attempt to warm the fluid up before his fingers rubbed at the reddened rim once more.

This time, unlike before, he opened open automatically, no encouragement needed, and greedily clutched onto the fingers. Chekov moaned and hummed, dropping kiss to the dimples on the bottom of Leonard’s back as a reward.

Whereas before, he was forceful and persistent, making Leonard take his fingers, his tongue, this time, he was much more reserved, teasing. The movement was slow, a methodical slide in, up to the knuckles, and then out again, until only the tip of his finger remained inside. There was a rhythm to it that Leonard attached himself completely to, desperately rocking down, wanting more but wanting it to last. His cock, by this point, was leaking heavily between his legs, pre-cum staining the duvet and every time he rocked down, Leonard would relish in the friction against his cockhead that he was given. Leonard’s head was getting heavy, and he blinked almost tiredly – as if he could fall asleep to the steady beat, despite the ache in the centre of his body.

Still, as time went on, his need for more grew. His tongue and his fingers, fast or slow, it didn’t really matter. They were wonderful, and Chekov certainly knew how to use them, but he wanted his cock. The one he had yet to see. He wanted to feel it, the length pressed against his prostate and his girth stretching him. He wanted to be fucked, wanted to fuck himself on it. Wanted to be made to take it or be fed it slowly, like a reward. He wanted to cum on it.

“Please, sé-er, please, please, please…” he begged, the words tumbling from his lips before he had a chance to really understand what he was staying.

“Please vhat Lynard?” Chekov urged him to continue.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please, just please,” the words garbled together at the end when Chekov’s fingers crooked, his prostate touched and his head spun.

“Since you beg so prettily,” he was told, and then the fingers were gone again, and he stifled the whine in the pillow. He held himself up, presenting himself, eyes screwed shut and waited, waited, impatiently, wantonly, helplessly.

When Chekov’s cock head rubbed against his hole, Leonard moaned loudly and inclined his hips onto it. He felt his dom’s shudder against him. “That’s it, slip it in for me,” he muttered the words.

“Y-yes… s-sé-ah-er,” Leonard’s voice trembled as he took the cock into him. Chekov didn’t move, except for the tightening of hands against his hips, but there was no doubt that he wasn’t watching. Watching Leonard’s arse opening for his cock, watching the way Leonard pushed down shamelessly down, as he took as much of the dick into himself as possible.

“Good boy, good boy, that’s it, such a good boy for me,” Chekov praised, “Taking my cock, you like that?”

“Y-yes sé-er,” Leonard slurred the words.

“How does it feel дорогой? Tell me,” he ordered sharply.

“Full. I’m full, sé-er” he muttered.

“Do you like being full of your сэр’s cock?”

“Y-yes sé-er…”

“Say it.”

“I like b-being full of your cock.”

“And vho am I? You hawe to be more specific.”

“My sé-er, you’re my sé-er,” Leonard cried out when Chekov thrust his hips forward, roughly, sharply. His cock swung between his legs, heavy, and he gripped his hands together, already tied together to give himself some kind of focal point.

Chekov was brutal with the rolls of his hips, flesh slapping against flesh, balls bouncing off each other. The skin on Leonard’s arse began to sting, ache, but he didn’t care. He really didn’t care. All he knew is that this was so much better than he expected. That he’d never felt so amazing in his life. That he wanted nothing more than to please Che- his сэр, he wanted to make him cum in him, to feel the hot spurts along the inner walls, to have it stuck in him for days, like he’s been claimed. Even better, to have his сэр’s cum leaking out of him so that he will know that he’s been taken. And to have the ache in his arse stay, so everyone else knows that someone fucked his brains out. He wanted, he wanted…

His сэр.

Trying not to cum in this situation was the hardest thing that Leonard had ever had to do. The once pleasant ache was now borderline pain and he knew that if he just let go, it would end, and there would be only pleasure on the other side. He wanted to cum, god, he wanted to cum. But he couldn’t, because he hadn’t been given permission. One part of him argued against the need for permission, and even more so permission from a kid, while the other desperate clutched onto the idea of getting Chekov’s approval.

The man was close, Leonard could feel it. The cock inside him pulsed and the grip on his hips tightened, and he letting out these little grunts, involuntarily, between the stream of Russian words. So he put all his energy into making his сэр cum as fast as possible. He rocked down to meet the thrust forward with more vigour, and clenched around him.

“Vant me to cum?” Chekov questioned.

Leonard nodded and whined, “Yes sé-er.”

“And you vant to cum too?”

“Please…”

A warm hand wrapped around his shaft and Leonard yelped. The hand rubbed and massaged, fingers flicking over the spongy head, and Chekov’s voice, filled with dark amusement, whispered in his ear.

“Oh, look how hard you are. And all for me. You must be close, so wery close. On the edge. Do you vant to cum. Tell me Lynard, do you vant to cum?”

“I want to cum,” Leonard gabbled.

He jerked at the sharp whack against his arse and Chekov hissed out pleasure above him.

“’I vant to cum’ vho?”

“Sé-er, I want to cum sé-er.”

“Good boy. You vant to cum on my cock, vant to paint my sheets?”

Leonard nodded shakily, eagerly, he didn’t even know at this point.

“If you vreck my sheets, you’ll have to clean them up,” Chekov told him, “Vould you like that? To lick your cum out of my sheets.”

“Please, anything, just, fuck,” his eyes screwed shut, “Just let me cum sé-er, just let me cum.”

Chekov’s hips snapped against him and Leonard cried out, muscles trembling and oh god, he couldn’t last any longer…

As soon as Chekov muttered the command, Leonard saw white. His vision blurred and his throat felt tight and dry, noises croaking out. He writhed and twitched, every nerve ending on his body hypersensitive. His strength gave out and he slumped, chest heaving and skin perspiring.

Vaguely, through the ringing in his ears and the humming in his body, he heard Chekov groan and felt the splattering of cum that made him whimper just a little.

When Chekov pulled out, Leonard felt empty and loose and at a loss. He must have made a noise, even though he didn’t remember doing it, because Chekov was there, soothing him with shushes and gentle caresses. His hands now released, he was easily pushed and pulled into the position he was wanted to be in. Chekov cuddle against his back, a warm presence that Leonard couldn’t help but lean in to, eyelids fluttering.

“There, there дорогой, you’ve been such a good boy, a good boy for сэр, I just need you to do one more thing for me before you go to sleep,” he muttered.

Leonard hummed and opened his eyes tiredly, questioningly.

Chekov smiled charmingly. “Kiss me.”

Even half asleep, even half out of his mind, Leonard had absolutely no problems following that order.

 

*

 

When Leonard finally awoke, it was morning and he was staring at the red canopy above his head. There was a moment of disorientation and yes, he would admit to the shot of panic that went through him when he couldn’t quite remember how he got there. But it all came rushing back – Devil’s Advocate, Victoria, Chekov, and the oh so wondrous night – and left him feeling a little confused, he guessed.

He’d never had a one night stand before. Jocelyn was his childhood sweetheart, he hadn’t needed to be with anyone else, and after the divorce he hadn’t really wanted to be. Until now. He turned his head to the side and Chekov was there, still asleep and he looked so young, so innocent, that Leonard almost felt dirty for wanting him so much.

But he did. He wanted Chekov. He wanted to be…his. His stomach churned at the idea of ownership, although he knew, logically, that wasn’t really the case. He’d done his research before he’d even stepped foot in the club. It wasn’t ownership, at least, not of one person to the other. A sub and a dom belonged to each other. The sub was cared for and the dom did the caring. But in that role, the dom had so much power over a situation. He gave permission, gave the orders, gave out punishments. And he, as a sub, was expected to just accept it and do as the dom said.

Leonard hadn’t been told what to do in that sense since he was a child running about on the farm land his parents had owned – did he really think he could do it again now? As a fully grown adult? And take orders from a kid on top of that?

If it were сэр, then maybe, half of him said.

No way in hell, and what are you doing calling the kid that for anyway? The other half said.

And forgetting the dynamics he’d been introduced to. If it were just a normal, average one night stand, how do you even deal with the morning after? Was he supposed to sneak out? Where they never supposed to see each other again? Except that wasn’t possible. They were attending the same school, and despite that, the thought of walking away made Leonard feel uncomfortable and wrong. No, he couldn’t just walk away. Not without saying goodbye – besides, Chekov was half splayed across him anyway. Trying to get away would only get him caught and it would ten times more awkward.

So he stayed. And then what? Breakfast? More sex? Would he get that round two that Chekov had spoken about the night before? Another toy, another chain? A shower maybe? Or a rejection speech of ‘this was fun but let’s never do it again’? How was he supposed to react to that? Amicably, or with hurt and rage because damn it, last night had been amazing and he’d dove into a part of himself he had kept hidden for so long and Chekov just wanted to walk away and forget?

The inner battle weathered, raging on, and Leonard didn’t notice Chekov moving beside him, until the arm around him tightened and dragged him closer. He yelped in surprise, and turned, eyes wide, to see the boy smiling tiredly at him.

“G’morning,” he muttered and then yawned.

“Morning,” Leonard responded weakly, and thought maybe he should stop staring now.

He didn’t.

“Like vhat you see?” Chekov teased.

“I guess so,” Leonard replied lowly.

Chekov blushed prettily, and glanced over his shoulder at the clock. “Hmm, 10am. Early still. But I don’t seem to be tired any longer. Breakfast?”

Leonard remained silent when he climbed out of bed, barely muttered a reply as he accepted the clothes that Chekov had offered him, and when he sat in the kitchen, perched on one of the bar stools, he just watched the way Chekov flew around the room, attending to this and that, and chattering away happily. It was only, when he had stopped and the food was ready and being dished up, that Leonard finally worked up the courage to ask.

“So what now?”

Chekov paused for a moment, eyes flickering towards him before slipping back down the bacon that he was carefully placing on the plate. “And now, we eat.”

Leonard rolled his eyes and frowned. “I mean, what’s going to happen to next? With…us?” he winced at the word and how pathetic he sounded but he really needed to know. More than he thought he would.

Chekov exchanged frying pans to the one with scrambled egg and began to separate. “First, we eat. And then, we get dressed, and you return to your rooms, as I’ve got a lesson at midday.” The pans clanged as they were placed in the sink.

“Oh, right,” Leonard nodded acceptingly and grasped hold of that disappointed feeling in his stomach and toss it aside because he was not to feel this way, not after one night. No. He would not allow it.

Chekov picked up one plate and slide it cautiously across the top of the breakfast bar, and then leant forward, hands clasped in front of them. His smile was wide and open and teasing. “And then, I vould wery much like to see you again дорогой, if you agree.”

Leonard shivered at the word, and shifted on his seat. His hand grasped at the fork beside his plate and he lifted a section of scrambled egg on it, lifting to his mouth. He paused and chewed and looked at Chekov, who was still watching him, unmoving, waiting for a response.

He swallowed.

“Yes sé-er.”

Chekov grinned wolfishly.

 

*

 

Leonard should have known he’d never be able to sneak back into his rooms without his roommate knowing. Not when his roommate was James Tiberius Kirk, and he had made an art form out of sneaking in and out of their rooms (and many others) unnoticed. And considering how often Kirk had badgered Leonard about getting back on the horse, as it were, there was no way that Leonard’s all night absence would be overlooked.

He peeked through the crack in the doorway and breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw the lump in the bed. Still asleep then. That’ll hold off the questions for another couple of hours – at least, that meant he had a few hours to think of an excuse.

Leonard crept into the room, shutting it carefully behind him. The body in the bed moved a little and he froze, waiting until the movement stopped before he tugged his bag over his head and placed it carefully on the food of his bed. He fumbled with the buttons on his jacket, before shrugging it off his shoulders and turning to hang it up.

Kirk was staring at him, wide grin in place, from the doorway to the bathroom.

Leonard yelped and his legs whacked against foot of the bed, which rocked backwards at the force of it, hitting the wall with a smack. The body in Kirk’s bed shifted again and Leonard’s eyes darted panicked back and forth between the bed and its owner.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Leonard hissed.

Kirk arched an eyebrow. “Why, so you do your walk of shame without an audience?”

“There was no shame, I just thought you’d be asleep,” he defended flustered and jerkily hung his coat on the hook, “You scared me is all.”

“I didn’t think you were so easily scared. Where’s all that southern bravery I’ve heard so much about?” Kirk clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“Currently regaining his strength,” Leonard responded dryly and then approached his bed. He sat down delicately, doing his best to keep the wince off his face when the muscles twinged, and bent to undo his shoelaces.

“Who’s it this time?” he questioned.

“A nurse, Christina,” Kirk gave a small shrug, “At least, that’s what I think her name is. What was the name of yours?”

“Mine?”

Kirk hummed. “There may have been no shame, but there was definitely something shameful going on.” He winked playfully.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Leonard told him tersely, and roughly removed the shoe from his foot, shoving it under the bed.

Kirk rolled his eyes. “Urgh, fine, don’t tell me his name. But tell me, was it good?”

Leonard looked up at his best friend and sighed. “If I tell you, will you stop talking?”

“Cross my heart,” he mimicked the gesture of his chest.

Leonard looked heavenward, shaking his head, before speaking. “Fine. Yes, it was good. He was good. No, I’m not going to tell you his name. Yes, he was younger than me, and yes, we might be seeing each other again. And double whiskey shot.”

Kirk arched an eyebrow. “What’s the whiskey shot for?”

“That’s the drink you’re going to buy me tonight in celebration for my finally getting laid,” Leonard advised him, “Now, deal with Christina.”

“My name’s Christine actually,” a tired, muffled voice from beneath the sheets said. A hand came out and pushed it away from her face, and she looked up with accusation at Kirk. “You don’t even remember my name.”

“Um…” Kirk glanced at his friend for help, who was already shoving his shoes back on.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes then,” he announced, before grabbing his coat and leaving once more. Yeah, he had no intention of staying around to watch that train crash happen.

 

*

 

He didn’t get to see Chekov again that week, or even that month. So close to the end of the academic year, there were so many examinations, written and practical, that they were expected to do, there was barely any time to sleep and eat, let alone have sex (although Jim always seemed to find the time).

Leonard had his medical exams, to qualify him to join the medical team aboard any Starfleet vessel. He spent four days revising for his written, and his practical went like a breeze, although that had always been his strong suit. And then there was the Kobayashi Maru, the exam that every student who wished to graduate was expected to complete – and fail, because no one since the test had been introduced had ever succeed. Something that Kirk didn’t quite seem to understand.

**To: дорогой**

_If you’re exams are up, then what are you expected to do?_

**To: сэр**

_My roommate, he’s insistent on passing the Kobayashi Maru._

**To: дорогой**

_Does your roommate not realise that is impossible?_

**To: дорогой**

_I understand his frustration, it’s the one thing that I seem to be having trouble with myself, but it is the point of the exercise_

**To: сэр**

_Yeah, but do you want to try explaining that to him?_

Chekov’s exams seemed to cover a wide spectrum of things that had Leonard wondering exactly what he was studying. Navigation, Quantum Physics, Piloting, Linguistics. He knew that Chekov was a prodigy – he had to be really, that was kind of obvious – but in all these fields? It seemed like too much for one person to deal with.

**To: дорогой**

_I do not mind. I am passionate in all of these aspects of Starfleet._

**To: сэр**

_I just think you’re stretching yourself too thin_

**To: дорогой**

_Are you worried about me?_

**To: сэр**

_Maybe_

**To: дорогой**

_I feel flattered, but really, it’s unnecessary. I’m fine. I can handle it._

**To: сэр**

_That’s what the jockey said to the owner of the out of control stallion_

**To: дорогой**

_Excuse me?_

**To: сэр**

_Never mind_

Kirk would tease him about it, the constant line of communication. He declared that it was adorable that he and his boy toy were keeping in touch, and that he couldn’t wait to meet the man that had drawn his grumpy best friend’s attention. Leonard would always smile slightly, and say that maybe they would meet, and then change the subject.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed or anything – well, not really anyway. So what that he didn’t want to share the exact nature of their relationship, or the fact that Chekov was so much younger than him. At least, not right now.

He had never been really open with all the details in his relationship, not like Kirk who had no problems in parading his conquests around without care or shame (of course, Leonard also knew his friend well enough that he was a commitment phobe and for a long time, the only gratification he could get as through the women he slept with, but that was beside the point), and more obviously, the extent of his and Chekov’s relationship was…kind of unknown. They spoke a lot yes, but there wasn’t much else, and it made been so long since Leonard had been in the dating game, so long that he was sure that all the rules – if he were ever familiar with them – had changed. He didn’t know what to expect, and with no one to seek advice from (because Kirk was almost certainly out of the question) so he tried not to expect anything, as much as he could anyway.

It was better that way, Leonard told himself, although he sometimes wished for that night again and the promise of more between them. And, sometimes, it would seem that Chekov wanted the same thing.

**To: дорогой**

_I wish I could see you. I’m sure you’d make much better company than my linguistic textbook_

**To: сэр**

_Well I would try to be_

**To: дорогой**

_I want to tie you up again, on your back this time_

**To: дорогой**

_Then I can ride you and you’ll just have to watch and not touch_

**To: дорогой**

_Maybe I’d use a cock ring, keep you hard for me as long as I want_

**To: сэр**

_Sounds like fun_

**To: дорогой**

_Wouldn’t it just? Next time I have to study, you can come around. I will cook you dinner and then keep you tied up and hard on my bed with a rubber cock in your arse, wishing it was real and mine, until I’ve read my notes and then I can take you as my reward_

**To: сэр**

_It does sound like an incentive to study_

**To: дорогой**

_The best kind_

Unfortunately, the next time never came.  Only three days later, there was a distress signal from Vulcan that had all graduated and near graduated recruits sorted and placed upon star ships, ready to intervene to protect their ally. Kirk, for his stunt with the Kobayashi Maru, had been marooned on land. Leonard knew he should have let his friend accept the punishment because damn it, there had to be consequences to his actions, but then he got that pathetic puppy dog look on his face, the one that showed he was hurt and disappointed and sad, and Leonard cursed his weakness to it.

He guessed, he did punish Kirk in some way. After all, Malvaran mud fleas weren’t anything to be sniffed at. But maybe he had overestimated the easiness of the situation. As Kirk’s doctor, he knew that he was allergic to most things. However, he had kind of forgotten how awkward that made administrating vaccinations – which was made even more difficult by the fact the man wouldn’t stop moving.

And of course, the place that Kirk had to run, was right onto the bridge – the one place he definitely wasn’t supposed to be.

“Kirk, what are you doing on board?” Pike demanded.

“It’s my fault sir, he’s sick – Malvaran mud fleas,” Leonard gave him in a way of hurried explanation. He winced when Pike shot him a glare, and when he was given the order to take James back to the infirmary, he reached out to grab his arm.

Kirk shrugged him off and moved forward determinately. “Sir, you’ve got to listen to me – we’re warping into a trap.”

Leonard didn’t know what to believe. Half of him wanted to drag Kirk away whether he liked it or not; the other half could see the reason in what he was saying. James was a lot of things, but Leonard would never have thought him to be one to needless cause trouble, not in a case this serious. And he spoke with such ferment and insistence that, well, who wouldn’t believe him?

Beside, wasn’t it better to be safe than sorry?

It was when everything was moving into position that Leonard saw him. Chekov. He looked even younger than before, his yellow shirt matching his curls and making his eyes seem wider, bluer. He froze and stared for a minute, and Chekov, obviously having noticed him before, because he didn’t look surprised, only smiled at him.

Leonard smiled hesitantly back.

He watched the movement of officers around the bridge and crossed the room quickly, hovering at Chekov’s side, although his eyes remained firmly in front, at the window and the stars that rushed past across the blanket of darkness. He folded his arms across his chest and straightened his back.

“I didn’t know you’d been assigned here,” he muttered.

“Same to you,” Chekov answered, adjusting the readings that came across the screen with a precise turn of his wrist, “It’s certainly a surprise, although not a vholely unpleasant one.”

“Wish it was under better circumstances,” Leonard responded. He paused, and inclined his head, “Do you think it’s true? That we’re heading towards an ambush?”

“It’s about as expected as Wulcan getting attacked. So, today, I vould say it’s entirely possible,” he looked up at Leonard, who, feeling the eyes upon him, glanced down.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he sighed, closing his head briefly.

“All will be fine дорогой,” Chekov whispered, spinning a little on his chair to face Leonard and leaning closer, his voice dropping as to not be overheard. “Do not vorry.”

“I’m not worried,” Leonard snapped defensively, shoulders arching.

Chekov smiled faintly. “You are terrible at lying дорогой.”

“…Perhaps you should not be as skilled in finding my lies then, sé-er.”

His smile widened and Leonard coughed to cover his own. It was a brief moment of contentment and niceties, before they dropped out of warp speed, and the horrors that awaited them – the Romulans, Nero, destroyed star ships that once held the lives of their classmates, and the destruction of Vulcan – finally came to sight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's possible I will write more for this because I know that cadet wanted more kinks involved, and I did have a few more plans with the story originally, but I don't know for certain yet
> 
> Let me know what you think either here or on [tumblr](http://imthekeptainnow.tumblr.com/)


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